


Supernatural 13x01 Coda

by summerwritesshit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dean is a mess, Episode Fix-it, Grieving Dean Winchester, I Made Myself Cry, Jack is sad, M/M, Mini Fic, Please be nice, Supernatural 13x01 coda, Supernatural season 13, dean dissociates, how do u tag, i can't write for shit but i wasn't happy with the episode, maybe i'll write more if it's wanted?, really sad i promise, sam has no idea how to help him, short fic, this is my first fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 18:50:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12348546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerwritesshit/pseuds/summerwritesshit
Summary: There was nothing.Dean stood by Cas’s feet, looking up his cloth covered body, and felt nothing. There was so much to feel that his body shut itself down, and made him feel nothing.





	Supernatural 13x01 Coda

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to write a series of destiel ficlets based off Paul Kelly songs that I love. Most will be set around the start of season 13, and unfortunately, there will be no smut because I can't write it for shit.

There was nothing.

Dean stood by Cas’s feet, looking up his cloth covered body, and felt nothing. There was so much to feel that his body shut itself down, and made him feel nothing. Face stone still, he turned, walking across the boards to the window, and ripped down the curtains, before tying the sections of worn fabric around Cas’s calves, middle and shoulders. He looked down, at the still form on the table, and the familiar shape of Cas’s nose under the white sheet, and felt nothing. Dean slipped his arms gently under the white bundle and lifted it off the table, careful not to jostle it too much. As he carried the sheet and curtains he completely ignored their contents, and just focused on getting it outside. Dean’s footsteps sounded against the back porch stairs, Sam turned from where he and Jack had already placed Kelly’s body on the pyre and tried to help Dean carry the bundle, but Dean turned his body so that it was out of Sam’s reach. Feet heavy, and frown embedded in his forehead, he reached the pyre and laid his load down gently. Taking a small step back, he turned to pick up the can of petrol. He felt nothing. The fumes from the fuel attacked his sinuses as it splashed against the sticks, making his head start to throb. After dousing the wood and cloth, he returned to stand with Sam and Jack. Sam was somehow optimistic in his mourning, but Dean cut him off with hard facts. The three of them said their goodbyes, before Dean threw his lighter into the pyre. Black smoke billowed and curled high into the evening sky, smothering the stars, suffocating the pale moonlight. Dean looked up and watched the dark column wriggle and writhe its way into the air, spreading its choking tendrils. Lowering his head and casting one more glance at the all-consuming flames, he spun on his heel and marched back to the house. He walked through the back door, boots thudding against the pine in the dark hallway, past the doorway Cas had emerged from when Sam and Dean had arrived the night before, and out the front door to the impala. There he sat, and waited for Sam and Jack.

The drive back to the bunker was silent. Sam didn’t bother to offer to drive, just sat in the passenger seat, head against the cold window glass, turning every now and then to check on Jack, who had barely moved since he got in to the car. The young nephilim gazed blankly out the window, watching the blur of trees and fields rushing past the car, but not seeing them. Dean’s hands stayed firmly on the wheel, his eyes on the road. The impala glided down the black asphalt, winding through hills and valleys, each the same as the other. He felt nothing. By the time the bunker was in view, it was almost dark again, and the chill of the night was seeping through the impala. When the engine cut, there was complete silence. No-one moved. No-one knew what to do, how to act in the situation. Dean threw his door open with a lot more force than necessary, strode out of the garage and down the bleak hallways, until he arrived at the door to his bedroom. There he paused, fingertips brushing against the dark grain of the wood. The numbness gripping his chest had turned into a dull throb, and was now starting to fight its way out of his lungs and up his throat. Sucking in a harsh gulp of air, he wrenched the knob and threw the door open, where it bounced off the brick of the inside of the room and swing back in his face. Pushing the door again, more gently this time, he stepped into his bedroom. The wall opposite him came in to focus and his heart stopped, before thundering like a freight train. A small, simple wooden cross lay on the shelf above his pillow, leaning over as if it was laying down to die. Dean’s vision swam, his ears rang, and the room spun as he turned away from the crucifix, and the memory of the person who put it there. He started back towards the doorway, taking a step, abandoning the movement halfway through as he remembered the last person he had seen standing there. Staggering, mentally and physically, he turned to face the side of his room, away from his memories, eyes falling to where his small writing desk leant against the wall. As his blurred vision began to process the straight lines of the timber, he remembered ho he had been talking to the last time he had sat there. Dean’s knees gave out underneath him and he dropped to the hard floor, tucking his legs underneath his chest, resting his forehead on the cold ground. He saw him. He saw him sitting in the impala, standing in a diner, walking down a corridor, reading in the library. He saw him smiling, saw him crying. Dean saw him, slumped into a couch in an old barn, saying words Dean had tried his hardest to ignore at the time. He remembered arms around his chest, a head resting on his shoulder, a hand on his arm, burning its claim into his skin. He saw him, and remembered the moment of relief, before the light, before his world fell in to the dirt. Dean saw him lying there, burnt impressions of wings stretched out from his shoulders. Dean dragged air into his lungs, choking on a sob, and he felt. He felt everything.      

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? Should I write more, or should i flush my laptop down the toilet? I gave myself major feels with this. Come yell at me on my tumblr: [@correlation-with-damnation](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/correlation-with-damnation)


End file.
